


At Least It Isn’t Rats

by Tiny Squid (AvengerofSquids)



Series: Borrowers!Connor and Nines [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), The Borrowers - All Media Types, The Littles (Cartoon), giant/tiny - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has Panic Attacks, Fear, G/T, Gen, Giant/Tiny, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Anderson-centric, Inktober 2019, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Hank Anderson, Panic, Panic Attacks, Protective Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, borrower!Connor, borrower!Nines, oh boy here we go - Freeform, okay I give up on tagging time to actually post this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengerofSquids/pseuds/Tiny%20Squid
Summary: “Hank debates heading back to bed and just checking the trap in the morning so that he can sleep off whatever drunken stupor he must be in, but he’s a detective, and a damn good one at that, so his curiosity trumps his exhaustion and he flicks on the kitchen lights.Two tiny men stare right back, the confusion on their faces quickly morphing into unbridled panic.”.Or, how Hank ran into his two hidden housemates for the first (and hopefully not last, though he would never admit it) time.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Upgraded Connor | RK900
Series: Borrowers!Connor and Nines [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549327
Comments: 28
Kudos: 250





	At Least It Isn’t Rats

**Author's Note:**

> My first borrower story! If you aren't sure what borrowers are, they're basically like tiny people (similar to fairies without the wings I guess) who often live in people's houses to survive. They're from a book series that I loved as a kid, and I didn't realize that there was a whole fandom based around that concept until I found crossover fics in some of my other fandoms. Since I couldn't find many DBH / The Borrowers crossover stories here or on Tumblr I decided to give in and create the content I wish to see.
> 
> There will be more parts to this, so let me know if you have anything in particular you would like to see in future installments. Also, sorry if Connor seems a bit OOC in this, there’s an actual story reason for that and it will be explained in future chapters.
> 
> I know this was really late but the inspiration to actually finish and post this came from hiddendreamer67's (on Tumblr) October/Inktober prompt list, specifically prompt #19 - Trap and the plethora of fics I read that were written for that prompt.

Of all the problems Hank was expecting to be having this year, mice weren’t one of them.

Sure, his house may be a bit of a mess and he hasn’t been consistent about setting traps, but he knows better than to leave food out overnight and had hoped that Sumo would spook off any of the more persistent fuckers (an armed burglar could break through the window and Sumo wouldn’t bat an eye, but it’s not like the rodents would be smart enough to know that). Apparently the combination of the cold November weather and Hank’s long shifts at the precinct recently have done their job and set out a neat little welcome mat for the pests.

  
_Well, at least it isn’t rats. _Hank thinks as moves his bread from the counter into a cabinet and tosses the beer bottle-–which had somehow made its way into the sink before popping open and emptying itself, isn’t that just a mysterious load of bullshit-–into the trash. Although come to think of it, mice were tiny little buggers and shouldn’t have been able to move the bottle in the first place, let alone take it to the sink and open it. Fuck, they were rats, weren’t they. Either that or intelligent mice, which was a whole new steaming pile of bullshit that Hank wasn’t even going to look at.

  
Whatever’s stealing his food should easily fit on a glue trap at least; no way in hell was he going to risk Sumo investigating a regular trap and losing his nose. As long as he kept the house spotless and made sure the only available food was used as bait for his traps, this problem should be an easy fix.

  
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen; he doesn’t have guests over for a reason. Hopefully setting the traps where the mice were traveling would be enough to trip them up and catch them, then he could take care of them without too much trouble. Barring any unfortunate surprises, of course.

.

Turns out the couch feels surprisingly comfortable after working a double shift interviewing suspects for a homicide. Hank sighs and stretches before heading towards his room to fall asleep in a real bed, ignoring the stiffness of his neck and the faint rustling noises in his kitchen. He should have just gone straight to bed instead of trying to watch-

  
_Hold on a second._

  
Hank pauses, scrubbing a hand across his face as he listens. Sure enough, something seems to be stuck on the glue trap he had set behind the toaster. It’s hard to make out in the dark and from this distance, but it doesn’t seem to be rat-sized at least. Still, something seems off about its proportions and the noises it’s making. Squinting at the indistinct shape, he can just make out a second figure seemingly moving in circles around the trap and also making noises that are definitely not squeaks. In fact, if Hank wasn’t mistaken the sounds were almost too familiar…except words shouldn’t be coming from two mice on top of his kitchen counter.

  
He debates heading back to bed and just checking the trap in the morning so that he can sleep off whatever drunken stupor he must be in, but he’s a detective, and a damn good one at that, so his curiosity trumps his exhaustion and he flicks on the kitchen lights.

  
Two tiny men stare right back, the confusion on their faces quickly morphing into unbridled panic.

.

Hank immediately regrets not going back to sleep, because he is way too tired and not nearly drunk enough to deal with this shit.

  
Seriously, tiny people somehow not only existing but actually living in his fucking house of all places? He wishes he could blame this on a trick of the light and forget about it, but while it was easy to deny it when it was still dark, now that the lights are on there is no getting around the fact that there are two pencil-sized men on his goddamn kitchen counter that have probably been living in his house for weeks at this point.

  
Oh, yeah, and one of them is somehow stuck in his glue trap. He may be an asshole, but let it be known that Hank would never leave someone stuck in a glue trap overnight. Honestly he deserves some kind of goddamn award at this point. He can see it now: a golden plaque reading “Somehow Not An Asshole” sitting on his desk next to his name, right where Gavin fucking Reed would have to look at it all day every day.

  
Anyways, back to the matter at hand. The free tiny man (mouse man? fairy?) is tugging at the stuck one, having snapped out of its (his?) frozen state the moment it was clear that Hank had spotted them. Any kind of gentle pressure is abandoned for desperate yanks as Hank slowly moves towards them before the tiny finally gives up on freeing his friend and whips around to face Hank, snatching up a needle and brandishing it like a sword as soon as Hank is close enough to reach them.

  
Hank wishes he could find such a tiny weapon cute, but based on the practiced stance the tiny has dropped into, he must know how to wield that needle like an actual threat. Narrowed brown eyes track his hands as he raises them in what he hopes would be considered a nonthreatening gesture, but the armed tiny visibly bristles and lashes his tail (tail?!) when Hank glances at the male still glued to the trap. Hank shoots him an unimpressed glare but he just shifts to the side in an attempt to block Hank’s view of the other man.

  
The trapped tiny seems to be slightly taller than the other one–-although it’s hard to tell with how he’s bent over-–and his eyes are a steely blue-gray instead of a rich brown, but otherwise they’re spittin’ images of each other. His tail is curled as he gives Hank an unreadable stare, not trying to pull his stuck legs or hand from the glue trap in favor of maintaining eye contact. When the smaller tiny continues to posture, he hisses something and swats at him, shooting a glance at the cracked outlet behind the toaster before returning his focus to Hank.  
  


They couldn’t be making the fact that they want nothing to do with Hank any clearer, but luckily for no one Hank’s as stubborn as they come. He sighs, sparing a brief moment to mourn the loss of his evening, before he slowly lowers his hands again, considering resting them on the counter before he notices the faint tremors running down the free tiny’s tense body and realizes how much that could startle them. They might look just like people, but from what Hank has seen of their behavior so far, they seem to be acting on more animal instincts right now and might take any approach as a threat. Hank would rather make it through this interaction without being stabbed or spooking the unstuck tiny into bolting and leaving the other behind, which means he’s going to need to be careful.

  
Damn. He’s not used to being this intimidating; grouchy, yes, but everyone at the station knows that he’s generally harmless as long as they do their jobs and don’t bother him too much, and he’s never actually scary except to criminals and those annoying interns who steal his coffee and can’t do shit when it comes to paperwork.

  
Keeping an eye on the needle that is still being aimed directly at him, he shifts his weight so that he’s hopefully not looming over them any more than he needs to be and clears his throat.

  
“One of you mind telling me what the hell’s going on here?”

  
Well, Hank never said that he was a master of tact outside of the interrogation room and he’s running on fumes right now, so if anyone has a problem with his attitude they should just fuck right off…except that’s exactly what he doesn’t want to happen. _Jesus, Hank. Just don’t scare them, get some answers, go to bed without causing lifelong trauma. End of story._

  
The smaller tiny twitches and opens his mouth for a second before snapping it shut with an audible click and turning to the stuck one, who shakes his head. Hank grumbles under his breath and rests an arm on the counter, fighting the urge to pull it back when the tiny feints a charge with the needle.

  
“Listen, I get that you probably want to get out of the trap and pretend that this never happened,” Hank begins, consciously ignoring the way they flinch back the instant he begins to speak. “I don’t want to make this a big deal either since I already have enough shit to worry about, but I can’t just move on with my life knowing that there are two tiny people just living in my house doing who knows what. So how about you explain what you’re doing here and we’ll see where to go from there?”

  
The free tiny takes a step towards Hank and gestures towards the trap, tail whipping back and forth as he works his jaw for a moment.

  
“And how do we know that you aren’t trying to trick us? Why should we believe that you’re just going to let us go after you get what you want?” The tiny finally snaps, managing to project his voice easily despite the height difference.

  
Hank fights the urge to roll his eyes. “See, here’s the thing: if I wanted to hurt you or catch you or whatever you’re worried about, I would have just done it from the beginning since you’re kinda stuck here. I wouldn’t be gaining anything from trying to negotiate with you if that were the case.” He gives them a second to process that before continuing, “So how about you answer a few questions, then I help you get your friend out of the trap, and I go to sleep while you two continue whatever you were trying to do before this interruption.”

  
“What incentive would you have to hold up your end of the deal once we’ve answered your questions? It would be just like a human to lie in order to get what they wanted, assuming that we’d be more cooperative with the possibility of–” The stuck tiny lurches forwards as best as he can against his bonds and grabs the other’s sleeve with his free hand, yanking him away from Hank and hissing at him to ‘stop pissing off the human and making things worse’ before snapping his focus back to Hank.

  
“What he meant to say was that we would…appreciate some reassurance that you would hold up your end of the deal after we’ve done our part. Perhaps some collateral would do the job?” The tiny tilts his head and appears to think about that for a second, but it’s clear to Hank that he already had his idea in mind. “How about you let him go and I’ll stay and answer your questions. He’s made it clear that he won’t cooperate with you, but I’d obey to the best of my abilities and I wouldn’t cause you any trouble. It wouldn’t be worth trying to keep him here since he’d just–”

  
The armed tiny whips around and scowls at the trapped male. “Like hell I’m leaving you here alone! You should be the one let go first since you’re the one in the trap! I’ll be good, I swear, I probably have more answers than he would anyway so it’s pointless to keep him too if you have me.” This last sentence is directed at Hank, who is beginning to regret not leaving and going to bed while they were busy arguing.

  
The stuck tiny opens his mouth to respond but Hank quickly cuts him off. “I’m not planning on keeping either of you; not only would that be creepy as all hell for me to just decide to do that, but I wouldn’t want to. Let’s just hurry this up so that I can go back to sleep-–I have a double shift tomorrow and I don’t want to be dealing with this bullshit all night.”

  
The free tiny hisses but seems to calm down somewhat, his tail going still with only the occasional twitch. The stuck one, however, furrows his brows at Hank and asks, “What if we don’t want to answer any of your questions?”

  
Once again, Hank resists the temptation to just throw his hands in the air and walk away. “I dunno, I’ll still get you out of that thing but I’d make you go outside or something since I don’t want you two running around my house if I have no idea what the hell you’re up to. Can we please stop making things more complicated than they need to be and just get started?”

  
Surprisingly, the smaller man is the one that backs down first, lowering his needle a bit before exchanging a loaded glance with his friend. Whatever they were communicating silently seems to agree with both of them and they turn their focus to Hank, hesitantly nodding their assent.

  
Hank almost weeps with relief. Jesus Christ, that took forever and they still seem really suspicious, but at least things have remained pretty civil considering how grumpy Hank can be at ass-o’-clock in the morning and how paranoid these two guys were.

  
“Well, first things first: what are you doing in my house, and why mine specifically? Do you live here or are you just traveling through?”

  
The taller tiny shifts his weight so that he’s not struggling to stay upright on the trap. “We were gathering supplies: food, stuff for clothing, things like that. We only take what we need and must humans either don’t notice us or assume that we’re mice, because from what we’ve seen we’re not common knowledge and we’d like to keep it that way. Your house is convenient since it’s in a neighborhood so we could travel between homes if needed, you’re gone frequently, and your dog doesn’t bother us much. We–” His eyes flicker to his friend briefly before returning to Hank. “We do live here, but that’s all we’re doing; nothing to purposefully hurt you or anything. Usually the food we take is so little that the humans don’t even realize or care that it’s missing, and we don’t take stuff from you unless we need it.”

  
That adds up with what Hank had already pieced together. They don’t seem to be hiding anything either; they’re nervous, sure, but based on how the free tiny is reacting to the speech, it’s the truth.

  
“I set up these traps because I had a mouse problem; obviously you guys aren’t mice and I don’t want to just make you leave, but why should I be fine with you two being freeloaders when you’re kinda doing the same thing?” Hank’s more curious about what their answer will be than actually needing one; he’s already pretty okay with the idea of them sticking around.

  
This time, the armed tiny pipes up. “Unlike mice, we actively avoid causing problems for the human we’re living with. We don’t leave messes everywhere, we only take food that we need, and we’re careful not to mess up your food. We also care about germs and keep things clean so that we won’t get sick and we wouldn’t contaminate your food like a mouse would. You didn’t even know that we were here until last week despite the fact that you seem to be pretty observant in general, which I think proves that we haven’t been a problem. Also, we do our best to chase rats and other pests away because we don’t want them drawing attention to us-–why do you think it took so long for them to start bothering you this winter?” He blinks then, almost like he’s coming out of a haze, suddenly shrinking away and curling his tail around his friend’s free arm while keeping an eye on Hank as if gauging his reaction.

  
Nope, Hank is not going to look into that odd behavior any further than he needs to at (like he needs to repeat) three in the fucking morning. “Sounds fine, I’m sold.” At their confused frowns, he adds, “That means I’m fine with you sticking around as long as you don’t mess with me now that I know you exist or anything like that. Last thing: could I have your names, because calling you ‘the people living in my house and trying to stab me’ takes way too long even in my head.” He directs this at the armed tiny because surprise surprise, he was pointing the needle at Hank again for some godforsaken reason.

  
Needle-man shakes his head no but the other one blurts out, “Nines, I’m Nines,” and Hank almost calls him out on his bullshit attempt at an alias before he sees the betrayed look on the free one’s face and realizes that must actually be his name, which is weird but Hank supposes he has no room to judge considered that his dog is named Sumo. “And this is Connor.”

  
“Well, I’m Hank and the big lump on the couch is Sumo, but you probably know that already.” Hank pulls away from the counter and takes a few steps back. “I’m going to get some stuff to help you out of the trap, I’ll be right back.”

  
He easily finds the olive oil but apparently ran out of q-tips months ago (or never had any to begin with) but paper towels should do the trick as long as he’s careful. At least Nines had the sense to stay calm when he had gotten stuck so it was only his feet and one hand glued to the trap instead of his whole body, so hopefully he’ll unstick really quickly.

  
Connor is pacing by the time Hank returns and he aims a wary glance at the bottle of oil but otherwise doesn’t seem too disconcerted by his entrance. Hank gently sets the supplies on the counter and lets Connor move closer to investigate them (can he read?) as he rolls up his sleeves; the movement startles the tiny man and sends him back in front of Nines in a defensive posture.

  
“What are you doing?” He growls, waving his free hand at Hank, who lets out a quiet sigh.

  
“The olive oil should make the trap lose its adhesive, so I just need to put some where Nines is stuck and rub it in with the paper towels so that it does its job. Shouldn’t take too long and a pretty simple process.“

  
Connor gives a sharp nod. "Thank you for your assistance so far, but if you could just pour some of the oil out so I don’t risk spilling it I’ll free Nines and we’ll leave.”

  
He takes a step towards the bottle but Hank slides it away from him. “Now hold on, pipsqueak. You’re just as likely to get yourself stuck trying to get him out as you are to be successful and then I’d have to free both of you. I thought you wanted me to get him out?”

  
“You said that you would help us, which I assumed meant that you would show us how to disable the glue, not that you could put your clumsy human hands anywhere near my brother!” He’s posturing again, tail whipping side to side as he shouts at Hank.

  
“Okay take it easy, I might be an old man compared to you two but I’m a cop, I wouldn’t be such a good one if I had shitty hand-eye coordination.” Hank scoffs, reaching for the paper towels. “I can–”

  
As soon as Hank’s hand is within reach, Connor strikes, sinking his needle deep into the meat of Hank’s palm.

  
“Ow, Jesus fuc-” Hank jerks back, the momentum yanking the weapon from Connor’s grasp and sending it skidding across the tile counter. Connor stumbles back, curling into himself in preparation for a retaliatory strike before he realizes that one isn’t coming and throws himself towards the needle.

  
Hank lunges forward, slamming his other hand down like a wall and using it to carefully push Connor away from his weapon, mindful of how the tiny starts trying to clamber over his arm before suddenly jerking away like he hadn’t realized how close he was to the human.

  
Nines is shouting, scrabbling for his own weapon and begging for Hank to not hurt Connor. Hank turns to reassure him but Connor takes that chance and darts around his hand to bolt for his needle again.

  
Hank doesn’t want to risk accidentally injuring the tiny but he really doesn’t want to be stabbed again so he wraps his fingers around Connor in a loose fist as gently as he can manage and moves him to the side again, where he holds him about an inch above the countertop as the man squirms.

  
“Calm down, I’m not-” Hank directs at Nines, but Connor’s thrashing draws his attention and he slackens his grip a bit more in case he was somehow holding him too tightly before speaking to Connor instead. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, but I won’t put you down if you’re just going to try and stab me again because that hurt like a bitch.”

  
Instead of answering, Connor bares his teeth in a silent snarl and claws at Hank’s fingers, so he takes that as a 'no.’ Jesus, what is he supposed to do now? If he puts Connor down and tries to free Nines he’ll either be stabbed or bitten–-because yes, the tiny just snapped his teeth at him and Hank is not okay with that–-but he can’t just hold the man in a fist while he works because he’ll need both hands to safely remove the trap. He’s not putting him in a jar either because they would take that as a sign that he wanted to capture them and he would never be able to live that down.

  
Oh, and now Nines is threatening him with a needle as well. Isn’t that wonderful?

  
Actually, that gives Hank an idea. If he just moved the trap to where he could get started with the oil without Connor being able to reach it then that would solve the attacking problem without putting any of them in a container.

  
Hank reaches for the trap with his other hand and Nines quits shouting in favor of hissing and leaning away from the approaching fingers. Hank stops and levels him with a steady glare when the tiny jabs the needle at his fingertips.

  
“Do not stab me with that thing,” he warns, and Nines goes still and lets him gingerly slip his hand underneath the trap without stabbing him; he would count that as a win except for the fact that the tiny is trembling despite clearly trying to hide it.

  
“Put my brother down and I won’t,” Nines says in a tone that could be considered demanding if his voice wasn’t so faint, shifting his grip so that his needle is pressing into the skin right below Hank’s stab wound.

  
“Already on it, buddy.” Hank says, lowering his right hand to the counter before slowly releasing Connor, who stares at the hand holding Nines in a panic. He shouts when Hank turns away to cross the short distance between the counter and the table, leaving the tiny running to the edge of the counter before faltering at the drop.

  
Nines sits, frozen, as Hank sets him down on the table and reaches over to grab the olive oil from the counter, which is only a few feet away but is enough of a gap that neither of the tinies would be able to cross it. He eyes Connor to make sure that the man isn’t going to jump in an attempt to reach his brother, but he seems scared enough of falling that he’s not approaching the edge.

  
“I’ll bring him right back, but I can’t be working on him where you’re going to be a distraction because I’ll need to focus to keep from knocking him over,” Hank explains. “You should be able to keep an eye on us just fine from over here as long as you don’t do anything stupid, please don’t try anything.” Connor doesn’t seem able to form a response so Hank returns to Nines.

  
The stuck tiny is holding remarkably still, his eyes tracking Hank’s movements as he pulls up a chair and sits down before leaning closer. He soaks one of the paper towels in oil and reaches forward before pausing.

  
“Hand over the needle first.” Hank holds out a hand and Nines considers it before hesitantly resting the weapon on Hank’s fingertips. Hank puts it by the bottle of oil before taking his paper towel in one hand and gripping the edge of the trap with the other so that it won’t slide around.

  
He works carefully, warning Nines when he moves to a new spot and trying to keep his movements minimal so that he doesn’t startle the tiny, who really is only as tall as one of his fingers. He tries to avoid unnecessary contact because the man flinches like he’s been branded whenever Hank’s fingers brush against him, but by the time he’s working on the last foot Nines is having to hold onto his thumb in order to avoid falling onto the trap again.

  
It's hard not to notice Connor pacing back and forth across the counter but Hank does his best to ignore him, focusing on scrubbing the last section of glue still stubbornly clinging to Nines’ foot. He can feel the man’s heartbeat almost fluttering underneath his fingertips and the way he sucks in a shaky breath whenever Hank rubs a bit too hard; he hasn’t been this scared of accidentally breaking something since <strike>he held his son for the first time</strike> he rescued a bird that got stuck to his frozen sidewalk years ago.

  
Finally, after a surprising amount of oil and ten minutes of silent work, Hank is able to lift Nines off of the trap. The tiny lets out a startled whine and grips Hank’s thumb tightly, wrapping his tail around a finger as Hank moves his other hand underneath the man to give him some more support. Nines keeps his eyes shut as they move and it takes some gentle coaxing from Hank to get him to release his fingers once they reach the counter again; the tail remains coiled around his knuckle for an extra few seconds before it finally slides away.

  
Connor rushes over as soon as Hank starts to pull his hands away, dropping into a crouch by his kneeling brother and pulling him into a hug without giving Hank so much as a glance. Nines grips onto him and holds him close as the smaller brother begins to let out gasping breaths and quiet sobs, whispering to him and carding a hand through his hair to calm him down.

  
Hank leaves then, a painful feeling curling in his gut despite knowing that went as well as it could have gone. He did his best, he freed Nines, and he doesn’t care that they’ll probably move out as soon as they’ve recovered.

  
He doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Find this work on my Tumblr g/t sideblog (reblogs greatly appreciated because it's glitching and not showing up in the tags for some reason despite reuploading it several times): https://giant-tiny-squid.tumblr.com/post/188727508420/1-at-least-it-isnt-rats
> 
> Let me know what you would like to see in future sections if you have any ideas! I already have the next two parts written and have ideas for another three at least (most of them are short but the last one is going to be several chapters and will introduce other characters) but I would still love to hear what you folks want to see in later updates!


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